


the sword and the fire

by acroamatica



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Concerning Hobbits, M/M, and an inconvenient number of dwarves, and one (1) dragon, hobbit au, okay i played fast and loose with both halves of the canon here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 06:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8193482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acroamatica/pseuds/acroamatica
Summary: In a hole in the ground, there lived a perfectly normal and well-adjusted individual who did not particularly subscribe to the notion that living alone, a good mile from the nearest edge of the town, was at all an indicator that there was something seriously wrong with one’s relationship with one’s fellow man.His name was Armitage.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe i haven't done this yet. LOTR was not my first fandom, but it was my first major social media fandom and it felt nice to go back to it, so thank you for this prompt, xanderfriend, and a very very happy birthday to you.

In a hole in the ground, there lived a perfectly normal and well-adjusted individual who did not particularly subscribe to the notion that living alone, a good mile from the nearest edge of the town, was at all an indicator that there was something seriously wrong with one’s relationship with one’s fellow man.

His name was Armitage. He was taller than most hobbits, and slimmer, and possessed a good four-and-a-half feet of sadly adolescent long limbs that were yet to, and seemed that they might never, fill out the way an adult hobbit’s body usually did. He’d expected for years that one day his father’s barrel-like stature would come to him, and did his best to encourage it with berry cakes and beer. But he couldn’t seem to shake the sharp lines he’d always had, the uncommon pointiness of everything from his knees to his ears.

There had always been rumours - since his birth, he would have said, except that the circumstances of his birth were rather the problem: nobody knew what they were. He’d appeared on the doorstep of Brendol and Maratelle’s neat, tidy hobbit hole, swaddled in a blanket, old enough to look up with clever eyes at the great ginger-bearded man and say “Da”.

At least of that there was no doubt. The brilliant ginger of the baby’s flyaway hair had marked him without question as Brendol’s son, and as he grew, there was enough else of Brendol about him to settle it, but who his mother might have been was an enduring mystery.

The meaner-spirited took his height and uncommon slenderness as a clear sign of something not being quite right with young Armitage. It wasn’t so hard to imagine the charismatic schoolmaster having found some young lady somewhere out of Bucklebury, but the boy couldn’t be all hobbit, not with those looks. Some suggested perhaps Brendol had befriended a tavern maid at one of the establishments catering to Men, along the trading roads. The more imaginative wondered if perhaps on one of his hikes out to the woods to collect mushrooms, he might have met a young wood elf. Either way, nothing could be proved, but Armitage was just different enough that the voices were not silenced.

On the whole he thought that given the way the various families of the town had treated him, it was only reasonable to keep to himself. When he’d come of age, and begun following in his father’s footsteps at the school, he had purchased some land, and had a house built into the side of a hill. Here it was that he lived, neat and tidy and solitary but for the occasional visitor. 

There was only one visitor who came again and again. Like Armitage, he was a cipher to the townsfolk, an unknown quantity - and like Armitage, they mostly reacted to him with badly disguised fear and distaste, too other to be accepted. 

He was called Snoke, although Armitage did not think that had always been his name, and he styled himself Snoke the Pale, in the manner of the great wizards of lore. Armitage didn’t know whether he was truly as powerful as he claimed, but he was powerful enough, and certainly had magic.

He’d first come to Armitage’s door many years prior, with tales of the great things Armitage might achieve if they allied themselves. “Have you ever wondered,” he had said, by the firelight in the hearth, “what you might do if you were no longer tethered to these common folk you barely tolerate? Your father taught you to excel to the limits of your ability. I do not think you have yet discovered those limits in truth.”

It had been a statement to consider at length, and that he had done; but fundamentally, Armitage was a practical man, and hobbits did not like to make decisions quickly. He had told Snoke that he would think on it, and he would welcome the great wizard’s presence in his home at any time - and he had, because after all, it was unwise to refuse hospitality to a wizard. Anyhow, he told excellent stories, even if Armitage was privately certain most of them could not be true.

But apart from the way people tended to listen when he spoke, which was most likely nothing more than charisma passed down from his father, he saw nothing in himself that made him any more extraordinary than the next tall and skinny hobbit (not that there were many of those). And so he had just about decided himself that he would tell Snoke, the next time he came, that there was nothing further Snoke might realistically hope to gain from the extremely limited influence of a village schoolteacher.

Of course, when he opened his front door to find Snoke already seated comfortably in the best armchair, the plan became tea, and the cake he’d made the night before, almost as though he had been expecting guests.

Snoke was a spectral-looking creature. He might once have been human, but Armitage thought that that might have been far longer ago than any Man should live, and whatever had happened to keep him alive still had not been kind to his appearance. He was greyish of skin, far taller than Hux and cadaverous of face and limbs. He no longer had any hair anywhere on his head; from the taut shine of his skin, Armitage wondered if perhaps it had been burnt away. He was unsettling, and more so when his eyes were fixed squarely upon you. But he was much less unsettling with a slice of strawberry cake in hand and one of Armitage’s best teacups perched on his knee, and so Armitage usually endeavoured to get him to that stage as quickly as possible so that a more normal conversation might be had.

“My dear boy,” Snoke said, some time after the third slice of cake. “I have come here today not just to partake of tea. I have told you many times that I knew someday your skills would be needed, your unique powers - and that day has come.” He set down the teacup on the end table and steepled his knobby fingers.

Armitage sipped at his tea to cover his consternation. “I’m sure I have no skills or talents that are particularly unique,” he said.

“Not so.” Snoke smiled. Armitage was suddenly glad he did not do that often. “You see, I have a friend - a very powerful friend who would like very much to meet you. He is trying to put together an expedition -”

No good could come of that word. “But my responsibilities,” Armitage said hastily.

Snoke waved a hand as though his protests were smoke in the air. “They are nothing in comparison to the importance of this. I have invited my friend here to meet you, so that he may see for himself how well-suited you are to the task he has in mind.”

Armitage nearly choked on his tea. “Here? Well, by all means,” he said, rather frantically remembering good manners, “but when might we be expecting him?”

There was a knock on the door.

“Soon,” Snoke said calmly.

Armitage set down his cup. “I’ll… just be a moment.”

The knock came again as he was hurrying to the door, and no hobbit would ever be so uncouth, so it was not entirely a surprise when he saw the stoutness and sturdiness of the figure on his doorstep - a dwarf, by the armour and the warhammer over his shoulder, though his face was hidden by a complex metal mask.

“Can I help you?” Armitage offered.

“Halden Ren,” the dwarf said gruffly. “At your service.”

Then he bowed a short and perfunctory bow and stepped past Armitage into the house.

Armitage narrowed his eyes at his visitor’s back, but followed him. “Can I offer you a cup of tea, Mr Ren, or -”

There was another knock.

“Excuse me,” he said helplessly, a growing unease descending upon him.

Two dwarves were on the doorstep this time, much of a height and with great beards braided into complex knots beneath their equally masked faces.

“Solman and Silman Ren,” said the one on the left. “At your service.”

After them came Athor Ren, and then Elden Ren, and Armitage was running out of chairs; they had all declined tea, but somehow the rest of the cake had vanished, despite none of them having removed their masks.

“They have travelled far,” Snoke said, as he dashed through the room again to answer the door. “I have told them you would be able to give them dinner.”

Of course he had. “Of course I can,” Armitage said, and tried not to grit his teeth.

Olben Ren was ushered into the parlour with the others, and they sat in relative silence, all seeming to observe Armitage as he hurried back and forth between the pantry and the kitchen and the dining table, from around which he had already taken all the chairs.

His pantry was, mercifully, well enough stocked, though perhaps not quite as well as it would have been had he only known that there would be six dwarves to feed - they were known to have prodigious appetites, second perhaps only to hobbits, and the food would not stretch as far as a hearty meal for eight people, though it would certainly be better than nothing.

It was not wise to curse a wizard, even in the privacy of one’s own head, so Armitage did not - but he wished, so hard it might have been audible, that Snoke had given him more warning.

“There,” he said, setting the half a cold meat pie he had been hoping to have for his own dinner on the table with the rest of it. “Please, make yourselves at home.”

They ate like soldiers, pushing their masks back just far enough to expose a row of bearded chins and making their way swiftly and silently through everything Armitage had laid out.

He was slicing the lone sausage he had taken for himself into small rounds to make it last longer when there was once again a knock at the door, more resounding and peremptory than the others had been.

“Excuse me,” he said, and so very reluctantly got up again - he was certain the sausage would vanish in his absence.

He had thought that with six masked dwarves and a wizard at his dining table, he was beyond surprise. But nonetheless the figure on his doorstep did surprise him. He was masked like the others, but tall - taller than Hux by a few inches, even. Across his back he wore a sheathed sword half the length of his body, and he held himself with the forward hunch of someone who expected a fight at all times.

“Come in,” Armitage said, not even waiting for him to introduce himself - he would only be another tiresome Ren, whom Armitage would never be able to keep straight from the others.

The dwarf swept past him and towards the sounds of cutlery on plates, and slid into Hux’s empty seat as though it had been left for him.

“Is this everyone?” Armitage asked Snoke, with a tinge of desperation in his voice. He tried not to watch as the newest Ren tipped his mask back and made quick work of the rest of the sausage. From this angle, he could see none of his face anyhow.

“Indeed it is.” Snoke nodded at him. “You see before you an illustrious company, my dear boy.”

Armitage looked over the dwarves, with crumbs in their beards, and nodded.

“These are the Knights of Ren. The brothers Solman and Silman, who slew the Wargs; the legendary cousins Halden and Elden, who together led the charge against a horde of ten thousand goblins; Athor, the greatest armourer and weapons master of his time; and Olben, who knows all there is to know of tactics.”

Each bowed his head in turn as Snoke named them, but the newcomer continued chewing placidly.

Armitage gestured to him. “And who are you, sir?” It was the very edge of rudeness, not to wait for Snoke to introduce him, but Armitage was hungry and it was not good for his patience to be so.

Snoke smiled, and again, Armitage wished he’d stop.

“This is Kylo Ren - the Master of the Knights of Ren - my own apprentice - and the King Under the Mountain.”

Armitage narrowed his eyes at Kylo, who inclined his head without a word.

“I thought the Kingdom Under the Mountain was gone,” he said. “I know my history, and King Anakin died and his son refused to claim the throne, then vanished, never to be seen again. Are you his son, to be the heir presumptive?”

Kylo tugged his mask down and turned to face Hux. “The Kingdom Under the Mountain exists still,” he said, his voice echoing and strange from within the mask but the challenge in his tone nonetheless clear. “My uncle is dead. But I am the son of Leia, daughter of Anakin; I am the only remaining rightful heir and the true King Under the Mountain.”

As one the Knights of Ren pounded closed fists upon the dining table. Armitage did not, did _not_ flinch.

There was something about the way Kylo Ren held himself, so imperious, as though Hux’s dining chair was a throne and he nothing more than a peasant who might bring the King his meal - and thinking of that reminded Armitage of the hollowness of his belly, filled with nothing but increasing anger, and he could bear it no longer.

“The Kingdom Under the Mountain fell years ago, lost to war and trouble. You cannot rule what no longer exists. Furthermore, the true King holds the sword Lichtschwert, which I know as well as you do. It is from the mystic jewel in the pommel that the King’s powers derive. And that sword you wear is not King Anakin’s weapon.” He crossed his arms. “What right have you to call yourself the King with no kingdom and no badge of office?”

Kylo stood, all at once, scraping the chair backwards over the floor, and loomed over Armitage.

“I _am_ the King,” he growled. “I am the last of Anakin’s bloodline. Lichtschwert was lost in the mountain when the Kingdom was taken.”

 _Fell_ , thought Hux resentfully.

“But it is now known that it has been found. A great dragon has come to seek the riches of the ancient Kingdom, which are legendary, and it has found Lichtschwert and keeps it as its prize. It is for that reason that we march to the Mountain,” Kylo continued. “We will enter by the old ways, which are not sealed for they were not widely known; we will charm the dragon out of its prize, and with my grandfather’s sword I will lop off its foul head!”

The Knights pounded the table again.

Hux shook his head. “You go to fight a dragon, a beast so fearsome it could swallow you in one bite, and you haven’t even found the weapon with which you would defeat it.”

“I have a sword.” Kylo drew it ringing from its scabbard and pointed it at Hux.

The blade was as red as the garnet set into the hilt, and so were the crossguards - it looked heavy, and bore the marks of many battles.

But it was not Lichtschwert, and Hux looked down the length of it at the wielder, who was vibrating with barely-suppressed rage, and summoned every particle of the stare his father used on fractious children.

“You will not impress me with that,” he said. “Nor will you get very far on your plan if you intend to kill me. Snoke has told me you have need of my skills, though I cannot imagine what role I would possibly have to play in the slaying of a dragon. So you may as well put that away.”

Kylo growled, the mask distorting it into something primal - but Snoke said, mild and calm: “He is correct, Kylo.”

“He is _insolent_ ,” Kylo spat.

“And yet,” Snoke said. “I have spent many hours in his company, and I know him to be small and light of foot, and capable of things that display great power, though he sees it not so. This hobbit, unprepossessing though he may appear, is the key to your plan - only Armitage would be able to enter the Mountain, and with his silver tongue, so charm the dragon that he will give up his treasures willingly.”

Now it was the turn of both Armitage and Kylo to try not to stare at Snoke.

Kylo found his voice first. “You are wise, Snoke, but I feel you must have misjudged -”

“I have not.” Snoke stood. “Armitage, I thank you for your hospitality, but it is late. We must rest, for you set off at first light.”

“First light?” Armitage sputtered.

“You would do well to pack a few essentials tonight,” Snoke said. “Rest well. You will not sleep so comfortably again for some time.”

But as he lay under his warm quilt, with his feather-stuffed pillow beneath his head, listening to the snoring of the seven dwarven warriors bedded down on his parlour floor, he could not make himself sleep at all.

\---

He had no idea how many days they had been travelling, but the mountain had grown from a bump on the horizon to a huge peak, and they were well into the foothills now.

He was sore and tired, more tired than he had ever been in his life; he was filthy, his clothes torn and soaked over and over until they were stiff with mud and grime. He wanted, more than anything, to stay in the relative warmth of his bedroll and try to retain what tiny measure of comfort he had made for himself - but it was his night to take over the watch from Kylo Ren at moonrise.

Kylo was out on the promontory Olben had pointed out earlier as they ascended - it was a good ways higher up than their camp, but offered a sweeping view of the plains below. They had tangled with enough creatures along the way for Armitage to be well aware of the virtues of even five minutes’ head start, and this gave them more like half an hour if the watchman had keen eyes.

Armitage could see him, sitting crosslegged near the edge of the cliff, as he climbed up. He held something in his lap.

As he drew closer Armitage realised what it was. The dwarf had taken off his helmet.

He had seen the faces of all of the Knights before now - had become quite familiar with Olben’s round countenance and Halden’s broken and rebroken nose, had almost learnt to tell Solman and Silman apart - but Kylo had stayed resolutely masked, face hidden and cowl drawn up to stay in his own patch of shadow at all times.

But here he was, with the dark waves of his hair gleaming in the light of the rising moon, looking away from Armitage and out over the land.

Armitage cleared his throat. Perhaps it was forbidden to look upon the face of the King; he fully expected that whether it was or not, Kylo would shove the helmet hastily back over his bare face, leaving Hux no wiser as to the look of him without it.

Instead, Kylo looked back over his shoulder.

His nose was straight, too long to be handsome by Hobbit standards, and his chin was nearly bare - the greatest shock for Armitage, who could never remember having seen a beardless dwarf even in books. But his eyes were dark, intelligent, deep; the eyes of someone who thought a great many things he did not say.

“Sit,” Kylo said. “I was meditating. It is easier without the helmet.”

Armitage sank down next to him, crouching over the cold rocks. He had seen Kylo meditate before - Athor had said it was how he called down visions, to better predict the tides of battle - but he had not seen him do it like this, and it was difficult not to stare at the entirely unexpected beauty marks that dotted his pale cheeks.

“My face surprises you,” Kylo said. “I do not look the part of a King, I know. It is my father’s blood that gives me my size and my boyish appearance. But it is my mother’s that matters.”

“Your father?” Armitage looked at him for a long moment, then all at once the facts aligned, like a surge of some strange power: “He was not a dwarf - and you are thus only truly half a King.”

“He was a Man,” Kylo said. “And a weak and cowardly Man at that, when it came time to prove himself.” His lip curled. “My father would not have been Royal regardless, I am as much the King as I would always have been. And in spirit as well as in blood, I am fully of the line of Anakin. I owe Men nothing, and have nothing from them.”

“That can hardly be true,” Armitage said. “You said yourself, you have at least your size.”

“And to whence do you owe yours, Master Hobbit?” Kylo’s dark eyes seemed to hone in on him. “You are not as tall as I am, even without my boots, but still I think you are taller than you should be. And you move more quietly than you ought, and blend in better to shadows than you ought, and have more power in your voice than you ought - it seems to me that perhaps I am not the only one with a heritage whose complications I prefer to keep to myself.”

“Power in my voice?” The accusations were not new, had not been new the first time he’d heard them; the scoff was a practised response and nearly automatic. “You imagine things. I am a schoolmaster and the son of a schoolmaster - of course I know how to get attention.”

“You are indeed the son of a schoolmaster,” Kylo agreed. “But who was your mother? And is it the blood of her line, like the blood of my mother’s line, that will make all the difference in you?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Armitage settled himself on the ground. “You may go, if you like.”

Kylo snorted. “If it helps you, Master Hobbit, I feel I should trust you even less as a half-elf than I did before.”

Armitage looked levelly at him. “Why would that be? Elves and Men have no quarrel that I know of.” 

There was a long, tense silence - and then Kylo laughed, the sound low and haunting; he had never heard it before.

“You have spirit,” he said. “I admire that in one so otherwise defenseless.”

Then he rose smoothly to his feet and slipped his helmet on.

“Enjoy your watch,” he said, and stalked away towards the camp.

Armitage stared out into the quiet night, and thought for a long time.

\---

The path was very narrow, and very old, and crumbled under their feet now and then; Silman had been saved from a long and very nasty tumble only by Elden’s quick hand on his collar, and Elden himself had only barely dodged a rockfall, and every one of them suspected that perhaps at long last Kylo Ren was lost.

This path had to be the correct one, but there was a door, somewhere, and the map Kylo had found did not pinpoint the location. As much as that improved their chances of the way into the mountain not being destroyed, it did not improve their spirits, as they clung to the mountainside and watched Kylo leap at every suspicious crack.

The pattern was always the same - he would trace the crack, stretching his fingertips to find all of its contours, and then he would stand back of it, and clutch at the air as though he could pull the rock from the side of the mountain, muttering strange incantations under his breath. Armitage did not know what he thought he would accomplish with this, but so far he had accomplished nothing at all beyond convincing the whole party that their leader, this man who thought he could be a King, had not the faintest idea how to get into the ancient tunnels.

Night was falling, and there were few places where the ledges widened enough to get any relief from the wind, and few where they could do more than huddle against the mountainside to rest. There was no space to build a fire, and it would have been too exposed had they done it. As yet, no-one knew they were there, the eight of them halfway up the mountain.

“We should stay here,” Athor said, barely audible over the wind. “It will soon be dark, and it will not be safe to go on then, not with the path in such poor condition. We will surely stumble upon our deaths.”

“It is not a glorious death, falling,” Halden agreed. “I would rather live to meet with the enemy than end in foolishness.”

Kylo turned on them, and though his face was hidden behind the mask, the anger was clear enough - “Do not doubt me, my Knights! I know the door is here, it cannot be far now. If we stay out on the mountain we risk freezing to death.” This was not hyperbole; Armitage had wrapped his scarf three times around his face and neck, and still felt the bite of the wind too keenly. “Will you not trust me a while longer? I am certain - I can feel it in the rocks.”

Armitage shivered. “All I can feel in the rocks is more cold.”

“Place your hand on the stone,” Kylo said, and perhaps it was the wind, but he sounded as though he was pleading. “Armitage, you must - you _must_ know I am correct.”

He shook his head. “Even were I somehow able - which is ridiculous, I must remind you - I can do nothing to help. I have not been able to feel my hands for the last two hours.”

Kylo made an unintelligible noise - then he seized Armitage’s wrist, and pulled his right hand from the meagre shelter of his coat pocket. “You must help,” he repeated, as though he were dazed by the cold, and he folded Armitage’s hand in between his.

Warmth bloomed between Kylo’s palms, like a tiny flame had been kindled.

At first it felt like nothing - and then it _hurt_ , the frozen tissue of his hand protesting as the blood forced itself back into cold-constricted veins. He gritted his teeth until it passed, until his hand felt as though it belonged to him again and was no longer a useless lump at the end of his wrist.

“Better?” Kylo asked.

He nodded. Then he pressed his palm to the frozen rock. “What am I meant to be feeling?” he said.

“Think - move your mind inside the rock,” Kylo said. He pressed his shoulder against Armitage’s, his body offering some little shelter from the wind. “You can feel the shape of it, the solid mass - and you can feel the place where it changes.”

He spoke with such certainty that Armitage set his skepticism aside, and pretended, just for this moment, as the price of evading frostbite with Kylo’s powers, that he could do it. That he could feel the ancient rock, in all its immovable wholeness - that he could look and see, as Kylo did, where magic had been done to it - that he could push his awareness out through the tips of his fingers, and into the stone -

A sharp tug behind his breastbone made him gasp, and Kylo gasped too: “You _can_ feel it! It is strong, is it not? Do you not believe that it must be close?”

He trailed his fingers over the stone, up the path, and Armitage followed, and the tug in his chest grew stronger, as though he drew closer to the source of it.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I don’t understand - but I do feel it.”

“Come, Master Hobbit,” Kylo said, and practically ran up the path, letting his fingertips skim against the rock.

Kylo was a few feet ahead of him, and they felt it at the same moment - a sparking flare of what Armitage thought might be the magic, triumphant and conclusive.

“Here, right here,” Kylo panted, “now help me pull it -”

And together they sank their minds into the rock, and Armitage thought _move, move_ at it, and felt something _give_ -

\- and the side of the mountain slid out in a three-foot by five-foot section, revealing darkness behind it.

“Quickly,” Kylo shouted, “inside -”

Armitage dashed past him as he slid the rock to the side, leaving an opening just wide enough to slip through.

And then Kylo was through behind him, and grabbed at his hands - “Was that not - Armitage, tell me that was not the most amazing thing - this is the power you are born to, this is the reason Snoke chose you - you were sent to help me -”

He pulled Armitage to his chest in what Armitage supposed was ecstasy. “You were sent,” he said again, “to help me. And you have at last.”

Behind him, Olben wriggled through the small opening, followed by Elden, Silman and Halden, then Athor and Solman. “Shut it, shut it,” Olben cried, “the _dragon_ -”

“Dragon,” Kylo breathed. “Does it fly, in this wind?”

“We have seen it!” Elden shoved at the rock. “And we can only pray it has not seen us.”

Kylo placed his palm on the stone, and it slid back, slipping into its old place with a thunk.

The darkness was immediate and total, but Armitage knew where he was - still pressed against Kylo’s armoured chest, close enough to hear him breathing.

“Welcome to the Kingdom Under the Mountain,” Kylo said softly. “We are safe here. I know it.”

The words felt true.

\---

They could not risk a fire. It was warmer inside the mountain than out, and the air was fine near the door, but they could not trust the tiny cracks enough to vent smoke. But after some time, the dwarves found they began to be able to see - it had been many years, but one did not lose the dwarven ability to see in the dark by too much sunlight. So they set their bedrolls out, side by each; Silman and Solman, Elden and Halden, Athor and Olben, Armitage, and Kylo settled furthest down the corridor as the lightest sleeper of all of them.

He had not let go of Armitage since they had entered the tunnel. Hobbits adapted well enough to night, and to dimness, but complete darkness was another thing, and without a guide he could go nowhere. But Kylo seemed content to keep him close.

Perhaps it was the relief of finally, after so many days, being out of the elements; perhaps it was the all-pervading feeling that at last they were safe, at least for a little while; perhaps it was simply that it was so pleasant to have someone want him next to them; whatever it was, he sank into a surprisingly restful sleep, pressed close to Kylo to share warmth.

It seemed impossible that the arms around him were real, and even more so that they belonged to the King Under the Mountain. And so when waking brought him the point of a nose nestled into his hair and an arm heavy over his chest, and his own face pressed against a woolen tunic, for a moment he did not know where he was or how long he might have been there. He could see nothing. For all he knew it was still a dream - perhaps, he thought, this had all been a dream, brought on by too much rich food too close to bedtime, and he would wake properly in an hour or so, tucked up snug in his own bed - by himself.

“It is no dream.” A whisper - warm breath on his forehead. “But it does feel as though it might be one, does it not?”

“If I am not dreaming,” he whispered back, “then tell me why you are being so kind to me, when we have done nothing but fight the whole way here.”

“You have helped me find my kingdom. And I am grateful for it, and grateful that we all live thanks to your timely assistance - and thanks to you, today is the day my grandfather’s sword, and my grandfather’s _kingdom_ , will be returned to me. I am the happiest I can ever remember feeling.” Kylo stretched luxuriously, and then enfolded him again. “I can be kind if I wish to.”

Despite the embrace, he felt suddenly cold. “The dragon. Today... I must face the dragon.”

“You will triumph!” Kylo’s hand was warm on his shoulderblade. “You have such power, Armitage - it baffles me how you could not know it. What could you possibly have had in your life in that tiny village that would convince you that it could be half so worthwhile as what you are doing today?” The hand squeezed, shook him gently. “Your name will be _sung_. Surely that is worth a risk or two.”

“A risk or two,” Armitage repeated dully. “This is a full-grown dragon.”

“You were told about this when you agreed to join us,” Kylo said, gently enough, for him.

“I never agreed,” Armitage said sharply, and pulled away from Kylo, sitting up and then standing, though he could see nothing. He wanted to pace. Surely he could do that in the dark. “I never agreed at all, it was simply agreed for me that it would happen, and I was wrested from my bed by armed and armoured warriors - what was I meant to say?”

He stepped over where he thought Kylo’s legs might be, and tried to step again, but something caught him by the ankles, and he tumbled - right back into Kylo’s arms, floating gently as though he weighed nothing.

“You still cannot see in the dark,” Kylo said. “And at any rate you do not need to have agreed to anything; you are here now, we will just have to succeed and that is all. But we will. I was not confident of it before, but I am now.”

“It was a bad idea the first time I heard it,” Armitage groaned. “And it is still. It is completely impossible.”

“It may be,” Kylo said calmly. “But we are here, and you are here, and you have already done one impossible thing in the last day, so clearly the stars have aligned. It would seem to me that now is the best time.”

There was a certain twisted logic in it. But more than anything, the solidity of Kylo’s faith comforted Armitage despite himself. Perhaps he was mad, but they had come this far…

He sighed. “You must all agree that when they set the great lay of How the Hobbit was Eaten by the Dragon, they must describe me as truly heroic, instead of hopelessly misguided. I charge you personally, King Under the Mountain.”

Kylo chuckled. “It will be done, o Hero of the Green Lands.” He considered. “Hero of the Rolling Dales? Hero of the Large Feet?”

“I preferred Green Lands,” Armitage said acerbically. “Perhaps you might leave that bit to the bards.”

\---

It was too short a time that they spent preparing, and too little armour that went onto Armitage’s shoulders - “Worry not, Master Hobbit,” Athor said, far too cheerfully, “armour would do nothing for you but slow you down and make you louder. Should the dragon wish to eat you, he will eat you, and the armour would not stop him - but should you outwit him, which ought to be your plan, you are far better served by being fleet, light and silent.”

They set off down the passageway, Kylo leading Armitage and Elden directly behind, narrating in a low whisper all that he knew of the beast that lay ahead.

“We rely mostly on the reports of the towns and farms in the area,” Elden said. “They have seen the dragon more than any other. It appears that it is greyish, which is perhaps a good sign as the temper of red dragons is well known to be much worse. It seems that it only appears when the local folk have strayed too close to the mountain - but sheep and cows put out to graze will roam, and when they do, now and then one or two will vanish and the dragon will be seen, as though it were constantly aware of its territory. I was surprised that we had not yet seen it, but Snoke taught the King a glamour that he said would put the dragon’s attention off while we climbed. It may have felt the magic that you used to open the mountain.”

The passageways were getting wider, and taller; they could no longer touch the walls to either side, and Armitage almost thought he was beginning to discern the outlines of his companions - but perhaps it was wishful thinking. Where would there be light, in this mountain?

“It seems,” he said, “that you know little of this beast I am meant to dissuade, somehow, from incinerating us all. Does it have a name?”

“We do not know its true name,” Elden said, sounding apologetic now. “But the folk hereabouts have called it the Sky Walker.”

Armitage pondered it, turned the epithet over in his mind. “That will have to do,” he said eventually. “At least it is respectful.”

The air had changed as they walked; it no longer felt stale, but there was movement in it, and a distinct tang like that of the smithy in the village - heat, metal, dry dust, brimstone and char. Somehow Armitage knew: this was the scent of a dragon. 

And yet, when he tried to ascertain the direction in which it was strongest, it wavered and vanished. He could not hold the trail.

Still, it was certainly becoming lighter, a warm red-gold light like a hundred distant fires. He was not imagining that. He could see Kylo’s shoulders, and the glint of the silverwork on his mask; if he turned to look behind him he was sure he would see the rest of the Knights. 

“Soon, we will have to part ways,” Kylo said. “It is not far now, and we cannot risk the dragon catching sight of us - if he sees me, he is certain to know what we have come to do, and all will be lost.”

He turned then, and clasped both of his hands around Armitage’s. “Are you ready?”

Instead of answering that question (for how could he, when there was no answer possible - how could one truly be ready for something of this magnitude, but at the same time, it did not matter in the slightest whether or not he was), he said, “Tell me of Lichtschwert. I shall know it when I see it, but even a child knows that magical things are not always all they seem.”

“This sword holds no tricks,” Kylo said gravely. “You must seize hold of it with two hands, and you must run as fast as ever you are able, to where I wait for you - and then your part in this will be done, o Hero of the Red Waistcoat. You may leave the slaying of the dragon to those such as I who are made for these deeds.”

Armitage raised an eyebrow at him, now that he could see it. “And what shall I do while you are engaged in mortal combat with a fell beast of unimaginable size and power?”

“It is a dragon,” Kylo said calmly. “It is mortal too. All I must do is find its throat and its life will be mine. You may stay out of the battle if you like - as you say, you are not well armoured. But if you should see an opening, I pray you take it.”

“I am not likely to be of much use,” Armitage said, knowing it as bitter truth. “Hobbits are not fireproof.”

“You fear to burn,” Kylo said. “But I think you have misunderstood what you are.” His gloved hand brushed at Armitage’s hair. “You think fire will make you ash - but I name you Ember, who will take the fire and hold it in himself, to be spread and grown again.”

They rounded a corner and the light surged up to the point where he could see Kylo’s eyes behind his mask. He felt his heartbeat in his throat.

“It is ahead,” Kylo said. “You cannot lose your way from here: all paths will lead you onto the gallery above the Great Hall. That will be where the dragon hoard is gathered, and thus where you will find the beast. I can sense great power there so it must be so.”

“Then I…” Armitage swallowed, and pushed down against the fear in his chest, every one of his instincts warning him away from the enormous beast that would surely see him, and swallow him whole in moments if it did not simply burn him to a cinder.

He was here, and he had been chosen for a reason.

“I will go,” he said. “And if I perish, be certain that the songs are indeed glorious.”

Kylo caught his hand up and squeezed it. “Be swift of foot and of mind, Master Ember, and you shall have many more years to critique the songs yourself.”

And then the dwarves stepped back into the cloaking darkness, and one very lonely hobbit went forward, his bare feet noiseless on the stone.

\---

As he walked, the rough floors became smooth, and the smooth floors became flagstones; the walls bore niches where torches might have been, and then lanterns, dusty but still whole. Carvings appeared farther in, along with the places where hangings might have gone. It became less and less difficult to imagine this mountain as a grand dwelling, the most spectacular of castles. It was far grander than any place in which Armitage had ever set foot, and he would have liked to linger - except for the way the smell of hot metal grew stronger as the light strengthened.

The very stone of the mountain felt warmer now, and he thought for a moment of what might await him, what force would be enough to heat so large a mass of rock, but he did not slow; he could see ahead of him a place where the corridor opened and widened, and the light beyond glinted and sparkled.

Carefully, he crept to the edge of the corridor, and then to the edge of the balustrade, and looked out over the vast space spread out below him.

His first impression was that the ground below was armoured, a vast sheet of scale mail stretched over a hill; but as his eyes adjusted to the sparkle, the scales resolved themselves into hundreds of millions of coins, heaped and mounded on the floor in uneven piles. The room itself would almost have contained Armitage’s entire village, buildings and all. He struggled to imagine the scale of the kingdom that required such an astoundingly large court - the whole mountain must have been hollowed to its very roots, and perhaps well below them, and each corridor and passageway must once have been filled with voices, and life, and light. 

Now there was nothing but gold. He picked out objects in the piles - dishes, goblets, precious jewels set in rich metal. A great many sword hilts protruded from the piles, as well as daggers and helms; it was truly incomprehensible what wealth lay in this room, the treasure of an entire kingdom.

It was a hoard worthy of the largest and most terrifying dragon, by any standards.

But there was no dragon.

He watched, and waited, crouched behind the cover of the balustrade. Nothing moved or shifted; nothing stirred. There was only the hoard, and the raised dais and pillar in the centre of the room where stood the long-empty throne of the King Under the Mountain.

Slowly he crept along the gallery; he could see on both sides the huge staircases that descended to the floor, and if there was indeed no dragon, or if the dragon was out patrolling his territory, perhaps he could sneak down and look for the sword, uninterrupted and unnoticed.

He did not like the staircases overmuch. They had been designed for grand displays rather than for concealment, and they offered nearly no places to hide. But it mattered less if he had nothing to hide from, after all, and if there was no dragon lurking anywhere in this hall then he could simply stride down the staircase as though he belonged here. Still, a lingering sense of caution kept him crouched down, out of sight of anyone unless they emerged from behind him. He knew that none of the passageways onto the gallery were large enough to contain a dragon, but what lay below the balustrade he could not see. Perhaps it was curled in a dark corner out of sight, waiting for him…

And then he stopped, as though frozen to the stones.

On the throne, the wide and carefully angular throne that dominated the room, there was a dwarf.

At first Armitage thought he might have been a statue, so still was he; but when he listened more closely, on the scale of smaller things than dragons, he could hear his breath, steady and even, slow and deep.

At his feet, Armitage saw the great sword, gleaming.

This dwarf slept, whoever he was, and Armitage narrowed his eyes and surveyed the ground. He could not move all the way across the room without stepping on coins, but there was a path where the ground was almost clear, where the dwarf had perhaps swept aside the coins to move back and forth.

With painstaking slowness he slipped down the wide steps of the staircase, and picked his way catlike from space to space until he was within reach of the dais.

He stretched, and placed his foot upon the bottom step -

\- and the dwarf’s eyes opened.

“Who are you?” he said, in a voice dusty and cracked with disuse.

And behind Armitage, something vast and reptilian unfurled itself from the shadows, to breathe hot-metal air down the back of his neck.

His breath caught in his chest, the instinctive response of a small creature trapped by a much larger one. But he thought of Kylo, and of the promises he had made, and a sudden certainty flooded him: he would not sell his life so cheaply.

“I might ask the same of you,” he said. “What business have you in this place?”

The dwarf snorted derisively. “This mountain belongs to me, as all that lies within it belongs to me. You, o thief, have no right at all.”

“I am no thief.” Armitage drew himself up to his full height, and spoke from the solid core of certainty at the heart of him, pushing his intent into his words as he had pushed it into the stone of the mountain: “You will not harm me. You will call off the Dread Sky Walker, that menace you have tamed, and you will leave this place.”

The dwarf looked at him then with sharp surprise, sharper than his words had merited; Armitage felt the force of it as though it were trying to pry into him, and he pushed back against it.

“You will not harm me,” he repeated.

And it was impossible, but for a fraction of a second, he felt sure that there was nothing behind him.

He pushed harder at the intent, and the dwarf blinked: “You are no thief, that is true,” he said slowly. “Though I am puzzled as to what you are. I had thought you a hobbit, but that you are not either; you might be an elf, but for those feet; and above all you behave as though you were a wizard. What is your _name_ , strange intruder?”

He knew enough of lore not to speak it, though it was at the tip of his tongue. Instead he said, “I am called Ember, the Firebringer.” The truth of it was enough, without being a name that held power over him.

“What fire could stand against the Sky Walker?” said the dwarf. “You are a brave Ember, but a foolish one.”

He felt for Kylo’s words, as though they were his hand, lending him strength: “I will take the fire into myself, and hold it, and grow it, until it becomes a blaze that can destroy worlds.”

As he spoke, the words seemed to radiate out into the empty space of the hall, and he could sense the power in the man who sat before him, just as he had felt it in the rock.

Behind him - there was nothing.

There was _nothing_.

He did not look, did not take his eyes from the man on the throne. “You have no dragon,” he said slowly, every word as solid as stone. “It is but an illusion - a trick of magic to strike fear into those who might approach. I see it now for what it is. Who are you, that you dare to use the power of the ancient Dwarven Kings to terrify foolish peasants?”

The dwarf laughed. “You must be a wizard; only a wizard would dare be so insolent in the presence of the King Under the Mountain.”

His blood flashed hot, and he spoke before he could stop himself: “You _lie_.”

“Indeed I do not,” said the dwarf. “I am Luka, son of Anakin; I am the Sky Walker and the true and rightful master of this Kingdom, by blood and by honour. Any other claimant is the one who lies.”

“I believe nothing you say,” Armitage hissed. “If you were truly the son of Anakin, why would your own people not know you lived? Why have you not repaired your halls and called your people home? You do not lack resources.” He swept a hand out over the mountains of gold. “There is enough here to rebuild ten kingdoms. But you cower here in this mountain, speaking to no-one. I am not of your folk but I know well enough that is never the legacy your so-called father would have wished you to carry on.”

“My father was a fool.” Sky Walker stood, and pointed a finger down at Armitage. “You knew him not, and indeed no-one knew him as I knew him - but he was an over-proud and misguided man, who repented as death came for him of all of the evil he had wrought in the drive to conquer and command the land. The kingdom passed to me, but I knew the strength of the power that had corrupted him, and I hid his sword for many years, knowing that I was not yet wise enough to lead a peaceful kingdom when we had been at war for so long. I chose not to rule, for I chose not to be seduced by the dark side of that power.”

“The sword is here. It is not hidden.” Armitage set his shoulders back, looked up at Sky Walker and held to his anger. “You let your people wander, cast out, in fear of becoming your father - that is not the action of a king. Give that sword to one who would truly lead.”

“I see it now,” Sky Walker said, with something like a wry amusement in his tone. “I did not at first, but I know now what has led you here, Firebringer. You have fallen in with my nephew, and with those who would see him rule.”

“He cares more than you do for your people,” Armitage said viciously. “He needs only the sword you lay at your feet like a trinket; then he is ready to bring about a new age, where your once-proud people can be proud again.”

“He will need more than this sword,” Sky Walker said; “in fact if that is all that brings you here, Master Ember, you may take it. It bears no power anymore.” He held a hand out. “Take it, and see for yourself.”

Cautiously, Armitage leaned forward, never taking his eyes from Sky Walker’s weary face, and closed his hand around the grip of the great sword.

Even with as little as he knew of swords, he knew this weapon was old and very fine, of tremendously skilled craftsmanship. It was heavy, but yet its balance made it seem lighter than was possible; it gleamed blue along the blade, with ripples like flames in the smooth polished metal. Indeed this was Lichtschwert - to the last detail - excepting one.

At the base of the pommel, there was an empty socket, the setting for the magical gem that made it truly a king’s weapon.

“The stone is gone,” Sky Walker said, as though he could hear Armitage’s thoughts. “It was stolen from me, taken by a clever young scavenger who entered through a passageway I had thought closed. She did not want the sword, only the gem, and it is lost to you now. Lost to all of us. This is no longer my grandfather’s sword, it is but metal in a pleasing shape.”

Armitage looked up at the man, standing with his hands empty at his sides as though he had given up, and heard Kylo in his mind: _If you should see an opening, I pray you take it._

He had the reach, and in an instant, he held the point of Lichtschwert to the throat of Sky Walker. “That pleasing shape,” he said through his teeth, “holds a very sharp edge yet.”

He stepped up, closer, shifting his grip to keep the point right against Sky Walker’s skin. “You are no king,” he said, reaching for every particle of the power he had within himself. “You will leave this place - you will leave it, and you will not return, for it is worth nothing to you and those hands that will hold it after you will do it the honour it deserves. It is not for me to end your life, if you do as I say, but know that if you stand in my way I will not hesitate.”

Sky Walker looked sadly at him. “If that is your will, Firebringer - you will burn the world.”

Then the wind whipped up around Armitage, and dust rose to blind him for a moment.

When he could see once more, Sky Walker had vanished.

Armitage, called Ember, Firebringer, stood upon the ancient throne of the King Under the Mountain, and looked out upon its riches.

\---

_”But that can’t be the end of the story,” said one of the children. “What happens after that, where is the girl who stole the stone?”_

_”I don’t like it,” said another. “Why’s he have the same name as you, it was never you who did all that. You’re making it up and you’re silly.”_

_Hux sat back on the stone bench, amused by their childish presumption. “How do you know, Alyn?” he said. “You were not yet born when this story happened.”_

_”But it didn’t happen,” Alyn insisted. “It’s a story. You’re only a schoolmaster.”_

_”Tell us about the girl,” said the first child, and two more joined her clamouring - “Yes, tell us, tell us -”_

_”Another day,” said a voice from behind Hux. He looked to find Kylo, with flour on his hands and apron, leaning in the doorway of their home. “Run along, now, it will soon be time for dinner, and your parents will think you have been eaten by a dragon -” He ducked and swooped menacingly at them, arms held out like wings, and they scattered, giggling and shrieking._

_”It is a good story,” Kylo said, as he stood next to Hux and watched their disorganised retreat. “But you have always been good with words. Someday I hope you shall tell me the end.”_

_He had the first threads of grey in his dark hair now, but Hux embraced him just as he had that first time, so many years before - and thought about the locked chest at the end of their bed, and the bundle wrapped in oiled cloths, and the scouts he had sent out some months before, due to return any day now._

_”Someday we shall know it,” he said. “But for now, there is bread, is there not, my King?”_

_“Come in, my Ember,” Kylo whispered, and kissed the point of his ear. “We shall yet conquer the world. I believe it.”_


End file.
